Progressions
by GiorgiaKerr
Summary: Booth and Brennan's casual lunches evolve into something more. A series of oneshots. BB, of course! Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Spoilers:** This story's been kicking around for a while and I totally forgot about it… This and another I forgot about both fit rather well together, so I thought I'd play around with them a little. Experiment… Hehe.

**Disclaimer:** I really gotta get back to my policy of _one story at a time_. I get totally lost if I don't.

**Author's Note: **The fire alarms at school went off _twice_ today. Twice! Honestly.

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Brennan jumped at the sound of her name echoing through the near-empty building. She didn't have to turn to see the face that belonged to the voice.

"What do you want, Booth?" she asked flatly without turning. She now knew from working with Booth why people were always told not to make eye contact with psychopaths and feral animals.

"Nice to see you, too, Bones," he complained, mostly in an attempt to get her to turn around. It didn't work. Brennan's torso remained parallel to the floor as she leaned over the shiny lab table. Booth briefly mused on how her back would be in twenty years before remembering his reason for coming here. Still, he took a few seconds just to watch her before shaking himself out of it at just the right time.

God knows he'd had enough practice.

"Where is everyone, Bones?" he asked pointedly. Brennan finally looked up, hardly having noticed anyone being there at all, let alone leaving. She'd been working since before the official start of the work day, so very little had registered.

"I don't know, Booth," she said, half way between irritated and confused. "I'm not their kipper," she added, a little more irritation this time. Booth didn't bother mentioning that in being the boss of half of them, she kind of was.

"_Keeper_. Wanna hazard a guess?" he asked cryptically. By now, he was standing less than two metres from her, leaning a haunch on a near table. Brennan rolled her eyes.

"No," was all she said before turning back to the table. Booth pulled a face.

"Well, Bones, it's one o'clock," he informed her, sounding almost proud. Brennan just stared at him with her _so what?_ face. "Lunch time, Bones." He paused for effect, and to let it sink in. "And you're joining me."

"Joining you?" she asked calmly, absently. Her attention had been turned back to the pelvis sitting calmly on the table. She wasn't registering a thing he was saying, genius or not.

"Yes, Bones. Joining me. For lunch," he clarified. Again, Brennan didn't react.

"I can't, I'm busy," she answered in a monotone, more out of habit than anything. Denying Booth was usually the appropriate – or at least safer - option. It was Booth's turn to roll his eyes.

"Bones." He waited until she turned to him. "What are your office hours?" he asked sweetly. Brennan frowned.

"Nine till five," she answered, doubt and caution in her voice. Where was _this_ going?

"What a way to make a living," Booth muttered to himself shuddering slightly. He hated that song. "And you've been here how long?" he added. Brennan suddenly saw his reasoning.

"Booth, I know you're concerned, but I'm perfectly fine… what?" she asked when he slumped and sighed theatrically.

"I'm hungry, Bones!" he complained. "Come on," he urged. Brennan looked at him with a small frown as if deciding whether or not to accept. Booth's eyebrows rose slightly. "I'm buying?"

Brennan smiled a little. She knew a good deal when she heard one; she reminded herself to be adamant more often. "Fine," she conceded. "But next time: call."

"Don't I always?" Booth muttered as he ushered his favourite Squint off the lunch-stealing platform. He smirked as a hand connected with the back of his head.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Spoilers:** Not much to say today. That's a first.

**Disclaimer:** Brrip. I want a coffee.

**Author's Note:** Um. Oh! This chapter could be set after the first, or totally separate (the-first-chapter-never-happened-kind-of-thing). Enjoy!

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Booth stared between the five tables in the lab, each adorned by a semi-transparent box.

"So?" he asked of Brennan, wondering what she'd found. Brennan looked up as if to chastise him for asking, when an excited voice boomed across the lab.

"Agent Booth, Doctor Brennan!"

As they turned around, Booth groaned and Brennan rolled her eyes. Their intruder just grinned. Booth made his best 'big brother' face and looked at the kid.

"Our session's not till _Tuesday_, Sweets," Booth reminded him, wondering that the hell Sweets was doing in the lab without his permission. _Brennan's permission_, he mentally clarified, realizing that if Brennan could read minds he'd be a dead man. Who was he kidding? He'd have been a dead man years ago.

He glared at Sweets to find him glaring back indignantly.

"I'm aware of that, Agent Booth, but I'm here to see if you would like any help." He explained impatiently. Booth looked at him suspiciously, wondering how he'd even heard they had a case. Well, possible case. He decided to forgo that question, rather afraid of the answer, in lieu of another.

"Do you even _have_ other patients, Sweets?"

Sweets looked decidedly guilty. Brennan, suddenly interested in the conversation, turned away from the fourth box and nudged Booth.

"He just likes us, remember?" she said conspiratorially. Booth grinned back as Sweets expression went from angry guilt to dread. They were really going to do this again. Despite the fact that he could tell them at least four different psychological reasons for teasing him, it didn't mean it was any easier to handle.

Besides, he was quite sure they often just did it because they enjoyed it. _Emotional sadism_, he mentally diagnosed. He softened his expression into one of exasperation when Booth started talking to him.

"Is that why you hang around here, Sweets?" he prodded. Sweets glared uncomfortably, and Booth was momentarily impressed by how many different emotions someone of his age could portray is such a short amount of time.

"I _may_ have developed a clinical… fondness for the two of you, but that's –" He paused as his eyes landed on what Brennan was currently holding delicately between her index finger and thumb. He didn't think he'd ever seem a bone so small. "Is that _human_?" he asked incredulously.

He moved over to the table Brennan was standing at and reached for one of the tiny bones in the box labeled only with a reference number. Brennan slapped at his hand, earning an undignified yelp from the psychologist. Booth laughed at the sound.

"Manly, Sweets," he quipped. Sweets chose to ignore Booth, reminding himself that he was just trying to assert his masculinity. Though he'd never bring it up for fear of getting shot, he was working on a theory that this was Booth's way of making himself more masculine – and hence more attractive - in the presence of his partner.

Brennan was now replacing the tiny bone into the box and Sweets had the sudden urge to see what was in the rest of the boxes. The one thing he noted was that none of them had any skulls.

If these were children, it was quite possible that the reason for that was that whoever killed them felt guilty. Like covering the face during death, removing the head was a way of denying what they had actually done. Or of some _serious_ issues. Wanting to develop this theory further, he looked at Brennan.

"Are these children?" he asked, excitement and disgust evident in his voice. Booth looked at Brennan after glaring momentarily at Sweets. It was the question he was trying to ask Brennan when the kid had burst in. Brennan looked at Booth as if to tell him he should have thought of the question first. Booth had half the mind to tell her was going to. He kept his mouth shut.

"No, they're –"

"Irrelevant?" Booth finished, reminding Sweets of his presence. Sweets looked to Booth to see him smiling at him expectantly; Sweets was rather terrified, now. "You know, since you're here…"

"No," Sweets protested. Booth clapped a hand to the kid's shoulder.

"You haven't even heard me out yet," he protested. Sweets picked up the hand and dropped it back at Booth's side.

"I don't need to," he said sternly, turning back to Brennan. "There's nothing you need me for?" he asked rather pathetically. Brennan looked at the boxes, considering.

"You could take these back downstairs; I don't have an assistant right now, so it would be very helpful," she told him, holding back her smile.

Sweets huffed and he frowned comically. "Doctor Brennan, Agent Booth," he began, turning to each one respectively, "I am not a performing monkey, despite what you both may think. I am a trained professional, and I do not appreciate being disregarded and –"

"You hungry, Bones?" Booth interrupted. Sweets was just about seething as Brennan smiled and replied.

"Diner?" she asked casually, ignoring Sweets.

As the two wandered off the platform, Booth's arm slung around Brennan's shoulders, Sweets huffed, annoyed. They always ditched him; it was like high school all over again. As he resigned himself to the inevitability of this, Booth called out to Sweets, making him grin like a little kid and force himself to walk instead of run.

"You coming?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Spoilers:** Nada.

**Disclaimer: **Geez, I'm enthusiastic… I think I need caffeinating.

**Author's Note:** Um. Not much to say today. Except apologies for my writing lately. It's been terrible, I know. I'm trying to get back into the kick of things, I promise!

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Angela smiled as she threw her bag over her shoulder, flouncing about her office in a final sweep. It was only lunch, but who knew what was going to be needed? Angela could recall many a time when she had forgotten something that at first seemed inane, but was later discovered to be _much_, much more.

Her smile widened at the – vivid - memories.

Angela had given up wondering why her photographic recall only extended to sex long ago; now, it was just amusing.

Deciding that she had everything she needed – or potentially needed – she left her office in search of Brennan. She had a feeling that Brennan would put up a fight, so she mentally prepared herself for the next lot of idiotic reasons as to why Brennan wouldn't be able to join her for lunch.

The first time Angela had tried to get her out to lunch had been a total failure; most likely because Angela had actually listened to everything Brennan had said. But Brennan had changed a lot recently, and the first attempt had been over six years ago. Her most recent attempt had been prompted by Booth's ease at getting Brennan out of the lab.

If Booth could do it, of _course_ Angela could. She was wrong.

Somehow, Booth seemed to still be the only one who could wheedle Brennan away from her lab and into the big bright world that was The Outside. But Angela was sure she didn't need – or want – Booth's help. This would be a girl's night out. Only at lunch time, and with much less nudity. Again, Angela smirked, earning a wide-eyed gaze from one of the male interns from Paleontology. She raised a hand and wiggled her fingers at him; he dropped the folder he was carrying.

Angela pulled a face, feeling a little guilty, but incredibly happy the kid hadn't been carrying something important. She made a mental note to check next time she decided to play Flirt with the Intern. As the boy scrabbled on the floor, picking up papers that looked _incredibly _boring, Angela decided that no, the game was way too much fun.

As she rounded the next corner, she finally spotted Brennan, not on the platform as she had expected, but standing at the very edge of the lab, talking to a man Angela was pretty sure she'd never seen before. Obviously irritated, Brennan's hands made patterns in the air. Angela laughed quietly; this was a scene she'd seen before. Many, many times.

Just as she was about to approach Brennan, however, she caught sight of a familiar figure out of the corner of her eye, doing – apparently – the same thing she was. Angela frowned; of course he'd be here, and of course she would go with him.

As much as Angela cherished the thought of her friend not only getting out of the lab, but getting out of the lab with her hunk of a partner, she still wanted a little girl time. And that she was not going to get if Booth was there. Or, rather, if she had Booth to compete with. She wasn't sure whether to feel disheartened or ecstatic with this knowledge, so she approached her friend quickly, just in time to hear Booth ask the man talking to Brennan – rather violently, Angela thought – who he was and what he was doing here.

Angela laughed a little at Booth's tone of voice; he sounded genuinely annoyed, but he was still rather amused. Probably because Brennan's expression was about as petulant as a five-year-old's.

"My name is -"

"This is Marcus Greene, Director of the Photography Department," Brennan answered for him. Marcus Greene huffed and crossed his arms.

"Thank you, Doctor Brennan, that was very helpful," he said icily. Apparently Marcus Greene had a bit of a temper.

"I can't bear to hear your voice anymore," Brennan snapped back.

Suddenly spotting Angela approaching the group, Booth grinned and rolled his eyes at her. She smirked a laugh and moved to stand next to the group. Neither Brennan nor Marcus noticed her appearance, and continued to stare at each other.

Angela – semiconsciously – looked Marcus up and down with a faintly appreciative smile. Why was it, she wondered, that no one at the Jeffersonian seemed to be married? Not that she minded when they were as hot as this one, but really. It seemed cruel. He was a bit older than _most_ of the men she'd slept with, but in a George Clooney kind of way: handsome as hell and looking like he had had enough experience to make him a _damn_ fine lover.

Angela suddenly realized that people were still talking.

"So what seems to be the problem here, Bones?" Booth asked innocently, as if he were truly wondering and not just trying to get rid of Marcus. Brennan, hands on hips, turned to Booth and a little of the flame went out of her eyes.

"Marcus _seems_ to have forgotten how to do his job," she told him. Quite obviously, Booth forced back an eye roll.

"Ah," was all he said, before turning sympathetically to Marcus. Thinking he'd made an ally, Marcus turned back to Brennan.

"You're not one to tell me how to do my job, Doctor Brennan. You know nothing about photography –"

"It may not be my field of expertise, but I appear to know better than you," she bit back. Marcus was almost fuming; mostly with frustration. How her partner put up with her every day, he didn't know.

Marcus' face turned red.

Angela looked at Booth with a smile as if to say, _So what are you going to do now, Smartass?_ Booth narrowed his eyes at her, accepting the challenge.

"So, Bones!" he said brightly, clapping his hands together, as if she weren't in the middle of an argument. "Lunch?"

Brennan's expression turned from annoyance to exasperation. "I'm busy, Booth," was all she said before turning back around to attack Marcus again. Booth snorted.

"Bones, you're harassing a photographer," he pointed out. "Hardly constitutes as being busy."

"I'm working," she said meekly. Booth snorted again.

"You're not working. In fact, I'd say arguing with photographer's is counterproductive and a sign that you need to be fed." Brennan didn't look - in the least - convinced. "Now," Booth added.

Though Angela was happy that the stupid argument had stopped, she was rather annoyed that Booth had stolen her lunch date. Well, potentially.

"Yeah, listen to -" Marcus interrupted before earning a glare from all three of his companions. He held up his hands in surrender. Angela felt a little sorry for him; in all probability, he'd done nothing wrong.

As she finished smiling sympathetically at him, she noticed Booth's hand move to Brennan's back. Brennan visibly relaxed at his touch, though neither partner seemed to notice.

"Now come on, Bones; you'll work better on a full tank," he declared. Brennan frowned.

"Full tank?" And now Booth had her just where he wanted her. When she was confused, she was much less likely to put up a significant fight. This Angela knew better than anyone.

Booth grinned at Angela before leading Brennan – who was currently declaring her knowledge of the car metaphor - away.

"See ya, Angela!" he called over his shoulder as his arm momentarily hugged Brennan's shoulders before his hand moved comfortably to her back once more. Angela shook her head, thinking that she really must have missed something, there.

_Now_ who was she going to go to lunch with?

How had all that happened so quickly? And she could have sworn it had been a totally disjointed conversation. She realized – with little shock – that she had been rather distracted.

And the distraction was currently staring at her, frowning. She looked up at him and smiled sweetly as he talked.

"Are they a couple?" he asked, totally confused. Angela's expression turned into one of exaggerated pity as she put a hand to his arm, sighing.

"That would be a long story," she said almost wistfully. Marcus raised an eyebrow. "I'm Angela, by the way. Why don't we discuss this over lunch?"

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Love.


	4. Chapter 4

**Spoilers:** Oh my God, the last line is so dorky! *Laughs at self*

**Disclaimer:** Whatever. Last chapter!

**Author's Note:** Okay, I know this is odd, but I always find myself inadvertently channeling Mulder and Scully when writing these two, even though I'm of the firm belief that there are very few similarities between their respective relationships – _despite_ what so many people seem to think to the contrary. Oh well, if it works…

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Booth and Brennan watched the pair leave the office with silent interest; each lost in their own thoughts. Before Booth could voice his opinion as to their innocence, Brennan turned to him with a frown; a look he knew well. He smiled, knowing what was coming next, and placed his hand on her back, guiding her out of his office, through the desks outside.

"I think they're a couple," Brennan stated unceremoniously. Booth looked at her with bewilderment; there was no way she had picked something up that he hadn't.

"Why?" he asked, more incredulous than curious. This was not a conversation he could see going well.

"Working with you, Booth, I've gotten to be much adept at 'reading people'," she stated, hooking air quotes with her fingers. For a minute, Booth wasn't sure whether she was going to continue. For a minute he wasn't sure whether he wanted her to. But he knew that he had to hear her out. Improbable as it was, it wasn't unheard of; she was a genius after all.

At least, that's what he told himself as she continued speaking.

"Their body language strongly suggested an intimate relationship," she commented, her tone letting him know that she was only just _starting_. Booth was silent, waiting for her to continue. "Before answering each question, they made eye contact;" she stated, ticking things off on her fingers, "he continuously smiled at her when she got too nervous; he touched her back unnecessarily as they left the room…"

Letting her sentence trail off, she made a harsh gesture with her hands as if for emphasis.

Booth just stared at her as they got into the elevator. On the one hand: how and why had she noticed that and not him? On the other hand: Brennan seemed to be totally oblivious to the now burningly obvious hand pressed against her back. He was afraid, now, that if he moved it, she'd notice.

Or maybe this was her way of hinting.

But no. Brennan, he knew, didn't have the capacity to be that subtle. That, and the fact that she didn't think of him that way. He tried, instead, for denial.

"You know, Bones, those things don't necessarily mean that," he tried. It was Brennan turn to look incredulous.

"Maybe not separately, but if you add them all together -"

"This isn't _math_, Bones," he said quietly but firmly as they left the elevator and moved through the lobby.

"Actually," she argued, continuing before Booth had time to interrupt again, "there are mathematicians who are working on a theorem to predict the outcome of marriages. Which, _I_ think, is all meaningless nonsense, but -"

"Bones!" he cried as they moved out of the building and into the street. She looked at him like she wanted to argue, but remained – to his great relief – silent. "Relationships are not mathematical. They're not scientific – no, don't argue – and they're not predictable."

She seemed to think for a few seconds before responding.

"Like you and Rebecca?" she asked. "You didn't predict that she would get pregnant; or that she would refuse to marry you -"

She stopped as Booth sucked in a deep breath, jaw clenched.

He never knew whether she was simply trying to clarify, or whether she was actually trying to annoy him; punish him for arguing with her. Both were valid options.

He could almost ignore the voice in the back of his head that chanted _failure, failure_ every time he thought about Rebecca. For some inexplicable reason, the fact that it always seemed to be Brennan who brought it up annoyed him more. Maybe it was because she knew how much it hurt him, yet she did it anyway. He had a feeling, though, that it had more to do with their own relationship, confusing as it was.

To avoid answering the question, he settled for, "_All_ relationships, Bones. _All_ of them."

She was again silent for a few seconds, but apparently not willing to give up quite yet.

"But their body language -"

She stopped dead when she felt Booth's hand on her back, seeming to finally realize that it had been there the whole time.

Oblivious to the fact that they were in the middle of the street, Booth turned to face Brennan. He stood close enough that she could hear his voice easily over the roar of the busy street, despite the fact that he was almost whispering.

"When I do _this_, Bones," he began, emphasizing it with fleeting pressure on her back, "it's not because we're a couple; it's so that I know you're there, so I know when you move, when you tense."

He leaned a little closer as his words seemed to sink in; he could see Brennan steel her expression and she looked away.

"When I smile at you because you're nervous, it's because I want you to feel comfortable. I want to see you smile."

The truth of his statements surprised even him, and he found himself studying Brennan's face, just to make sure she didn't look like she wanted to run. She didn't look like she wanted to _run_, but she did look like she would rather have been anywhere else at that moment. But there was a determination in her face that gave him the impression that she would hear him out. _Why_, though, he didn't know.

"When we look at each other for confirmation, we're looking because we think better _together_," he told her, his tone leaving no room for argument. Her eyes met his, and he was shocked to see a certain amount of acceptance in them.

He smiled, suddenly, as another thought hit him. "We work better as one, Bones. Brain and heart."

He pointed to Brennan then to himself as he spoke. There were a few seconds of heavy silence before Brennan spoke.

"We become one," she stated simply, a thoughtful smile playing at her lips. Booth fought off a shudder as the implications of what she had said became apparent. He couldn't deny being impressed with what she'd said; even she would have understood _that_. Without much conscious decision, he leaned down, closing the small space between them and pressing his lips to hers.

He felt her tense just a little before he pulled back. Brennan's expression was undeniably conflicted; he considered for a moment apologizing.

Instead, he grinned at her, placing his hand on her back again and moving them forward. He saw her lips twitch – the ghost of a smile – and every intention to apologize vanished, replaced by a smirk.

"You know, Bones," he said as he led them towards the diner, "that's physically impossible."

He was rewarded with a surprisingly painful jab to his chest and a patented glare.

His smile only widened. They may not have been a couple, but they were quite a pair.

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Last chapter! Review?


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